The Tale of Prince

Summary

It's a dog's life but Prince couldn't have asked for a better one.An unblemished pedigree, a loving family, weekly grooming and a bowl always full of delicious 'Auntie Cher's Amazing Biscuits'. What more could a pompous, aristocratic pooch want?That is, until she arrives. When a stray, flat-faced she-dog comes trudging through his territory, chewing his toys and stealing his beloved Humans’ hearts, his perfect life turns to mush! Prince wants it all back, just the way it was. Yet, despite all his efforts to make her life miserable, getting rid of the despicable Bennie seems harder than getting cat pee out of the carpet... Prince’s autistic master, the silent eight-year-old Timmy, is developing feelings for this creature and even the Council of Pets find her likeable! Things couldn’t get any worse... until a pet is found dead in Prince’s swimming pool.As if being accused of murder isn’t enough, soon Bennie disappears without a trace. Now the HARASS team, the Council's secret service, is on Prince’s tail...On a quest to regain his reputation and peace of mind, Prince sets off to find Bennie. His only clue on her whereabouts a faint trail of 'Andre's eau de chien' dog cologne and the memory of a strange scent: a smell sour and sweet like dying flowers and rot, the smell of fear...With the help of Fiddles, a feisty, little mongrel, and Lancaster, a sly feline-outlaw, Prince embarks on an adventure which will cast him into the strange world outside his prim and proper Bendall Road. A world of usurped kingdoms, laughing demons, angry chefs, peculiar vets and fighting dogs until his journey to find Bennie will lead him to confront his most terrible foe yet and, on the way, find the wolf that lives inside every dog...

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The Tale of Prince - Bianca Staines

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Acknowledgements

I would like to express my gratitude to all my friends and family who tolerated my prolonged relationship with my computer and patiently saw me through the writing of this book. Special thanks go to my editor Catherine Kelly who offered her time, energy and invaluable experience to assist me in the editing process. I would also like to thank Plamen and Mino Gueorguiev for supporting me, despite the fact that it cost them their most hyperactive waitress. A huge thank you to Erin, Lola, Nidhi and Mhae who believed I could do it, even when I didn’t. Finally, I would like to thank Helen, Kay and Stacy who wrestled this tale out of me just to stop me midway because the suspense was killing them.

Σα βγεις στον πηγαιμό για την Ιθάκη,

να εύχεσαι νάναι μακρύς ο δρόμος,

γεμάτος περιπέτειες, γεμάτος γνώσεις.

Τους Λαιστρυγόνας και τους Κύκλωπας,

τον θυμωμένο Ποσειδώνα μη φοβάσαι,

τέτοια στον δρόμο σου ποτέ σου δεν θα βρεις,

αν μέν’ η σκέψις σου υψηλή, αν εκλεκτή

συγκίνησις το πνεύμα και το σώμα σου αγγίζει…

When you set sail for Ithaca,

pray that the road be long,

full of adventures, full of knowledge.

The Laestrygonians and the Cyclopes and

the raging Poseidon do not fear.

These will not be your encounters

if your thoughts remain lofty

and a fine emotion guides your spirit and your body…

Konstantinos Kavafis, Ithaca

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Characters

Prince’s World

Prologue

Chapter one - Prince’s Question

Chapter two - Nemesis on the Run

Chapter three - The Lady in White

Chapter four - The Manual to the Well-behaved Dog

Chapter five - Timmy’s Birthday

Chapter six -Blood in Bendall

Chapter seven - The Perfect Plan

Chapter eight - The Journey Begins

Chapter nine - For the Love of (Fast) Food

Chapter ten - The Forest of Laughing Demons

Chapter eleven - The Once-prince

Chapter twelve - Sssonge’s Story

Chapter thirteen - The Beautiful Monster

Chapter fourteen - The Pact

Chapter fifteen - The Queen’s Quests

Chapter sixteen - The Sacrifice of the Sacred

Chapter seventeen - Tina the Waitress

Chapter eighteen - The City

Chapter nineteen - Moon-matched

Chapter twenty - Beyond the White Door

Chapter twenty-one - The Old Slaughter House

Chapter twenty-two - Facing the Reaper

Chapter twenty-three - Rivals Reunited

Chapter twenty-four - Fight and Flight

Chapter twenty-five - Storm and Rain

Chapter twenty-six - Dancing over Glistening Waters

Epilogue

Coming soon…

About the author

Pet Wordlist

Characters

The dogs

Prince – Purebred Alsatian. The noblest, smartest and most magnificent dog in Bendall Road (he has the papers to prove it)! Also the boundlessly handsome and infinitely talented hero of this tale… Don’t believe the bad stuff the haters say about him, they’re just jealous. Also the Council’s Pet Selection Officer.

Vulpe, Aleppo and Themeus – Senukti’s brothers in order of decreasing brain size.

Lukhas – Senukti’s pup.

Marble – a doctor. Never leaves home.

Gilbert – Marble’s assistant. Survived obedience school. Just.

Prince’s World

Prologue

"Most tales are about things that happen somewhere else. Stories of famous folk burdened with noble purpose, accounts of distant lands and times long gone, fraught with brave deeds and sad songs. Places never seen, only heard of, where friend and foe do battle, where heroes rise and empires fall... But no one ever talks about the stories that happen here and now! The ones that blossom behind trimmed hedges, among the trees of a local park, down gravel driveways and in the shiny homes of Hu’mans. Yet these places too harbour bold heroes, fierce enemies and unlikely friendships worthy of mention. The tale I am about to tell is a story of choice, chance and biscuits… not to mention vicious rivalry and unconditional love! It all began one dozy summer evening in a place called Bendall Road, with a dog named Prince…"

- Chapter one -

Prince’s Question

Prince was a dog. But not just any dog.

He was a purebred Alsatian born into a family of impeccable pedigree, practically a VIP (Very Important Pet), the pet on every other pet’s lips. Prince’s ancestry included war veterans, beauty contest winners, racing champions, decorated police dogs and aristocratic pooches bred with one purpose in mind: greatness. If you’ve never seen an Alsatian, imagine big wolves with black snouts, bronze fur and dancing eyebrows which complement their penetrating gaze. Like his relatives, Prince was all-round magnificent. Endowed by nature with dashing looks, great size and an elegant bushy tail, his amber eyes were bright with unmistakable intelligence. Prince’s owners, Mr and Mrs Ripplestone, thought he was the best dog on the planet and would boast about him until their guests’ ears dropped off.

When the Ripplestones collected the pup from the top breeder in the country, they soon realized Prince was all they had expected from a dog of his distinguished heritage and more. To everyone’s surprise, the Alsatian learnt to sit straight on chairs, loved eating off a fork and could drink from a mug without spilling a single drop. He mastered counting so he could read the clock and change the TV channels. He could also open the fridge, use the microwave and set the toaster but the Ripplestones didn’t have a clue about this and secretly blamed the cleaning lady, Mrs Turnip, for the disappearance of the vanilla ice-cream and the frozen peas.

To the envy of Bendall’s pet community and the silent consternation of Prince’s neighbour – Blake, the ex-police dog from 59 – Prince truly had it all.

His home at Number 57 was nothing short of paradise: a white palace with a view of the Diddigton River, a heated swimming pool, twelve rooms and emerald lawns on a gently sloping cliff face which led to the pontoon where Mr Ripplestone moored his boat, Somethin’ Fishy. For breakfast, Mrs Ripplestone would serve Prince eggs à la coque with a side of Auntie Cher’s Amazing Biscuits. Every week the Pawfect van from Diddigton’s top grooming agency would provide Prince with his invigorating bath, complete with Moroccan soaps and a sprinkle of his favourite dog cologne André’s eau de chien.

But Prince was not just a handsome dog with expensive tastes.

Some dogs can tell right from left, recognise people’s names and bring you the newspaper. Some dogs can even open doors, pick up the mail and howl a pretty convincing version of I love youuu. But only Prince could have gone shopping and brought back the right change. That was because Prince was a bit… Hu’man.

The Alsatian had listened, watched and learnt, year after year, the wishes of his furless masters. Yet the more he understood Hu’mans, the less he understood the ways of his fellows. The pets in the neighbourhood muttered behind his back, sneering at his strange habits and remarking that, if he could have done so, Prince would have dropped his fur and walked around on his hind legs. They said this quietly, with a hint of disapproval and a lot of fear. Prince’s Hu’man mind was both his greatest gift and his most worrying trait: a way to please his owners but also a tool to plan and plot.

‘All he is missing is speech,’ Mr Ripplestone would say every morning as he observed Prince stare meaningfully out of the window, his hairy brow corrugated, obviously deep in thought.

In this Mr Ripplestone wasn’t quite correct.

‘I have the Word!’

The soft breeze of the night blew through Bendall Park’s playground. The swings squeaked eerily and the trapeze shook, jingling loudly in the dark. The seesaw gave a little thud against the ground and the merry-go-round spun slowly to the left, whining softly. As the moon gleamed in the black sky, an unexpected shape loomed in the darkness: a pirate ship.

It was the park’s playhouse complete with a mast, pontoon and wheel. Long tunnels wormed their way into the hull and led to passageways through trapeze loops and ladders, mazes which ended in slides, jungle gyms and sandboxes. All around the park figures sat in the night, their eyes gleaming in the silver light.

During the day these places belonged to Hu’man children. At night, they belonged to their pets.

Secret meetings were held every week in Bendall Park. Here decisions would be made for the welfare of the street’s pets and, as in all serious meetings, only matters of the utmost importance were discussed…

‘For the last time, carrotmunchers, which one of you stole my spinning wheel?’

Mr Nibbles, the hamster from Number 50, was shaking with rage as he stood on top of the playhouse’s pedestal, right beside the ship’s wheel. He was glaring at the rabbits on the ground, his front teeth showing.

The rabbits exchanged amused looks and sniggered. A little vein on the side of Mr Nibble’s cheek started to pulse rapidly. ‘I know it was you, Floppy of 52!’ he bellowed, his paw lashing out towards a mischievous-looking youngster with perky ears. ‘You’re always up to no good, you fat-footed, cotton-tailed, dim-witted brat!’

‘You have no proof, peanutbrain!’ stormed Floppy over the thumping encouragement of his peers. ‘And even if you did, what are you gonna do about it?’

‘Come up here and I’ll show you!’

‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’ chirped the birds from the trees.

A sudden ‘WOOOF!’ blasted through the night. The owner of the bark got up unsteadily and limped towards the pedestal where Mr Nibbles stood. It was Ponthius, the venerable Border Collie from Number 2. He was the Head of the Council and oldest dog in Bendall.

‘Now, now, esteemed colleagues,’ said Ponthius, his black lips and soggy nose all that could be seen under the curtains of fur which hung over his snout. ‘This Council stands for peaceful relations among pets of all shapes and sizes. Let us maintain a civil countenance –’

Ponthius rolled his eyes and, with a measured movement of his paw, shoved the furious hamster off the pedestal. ‘That is quite enough for tonight, Mr Nibbles of 50…’

Muttering a string of threats, Mr Nibbles returned to the slides with the other hamsters. There his colleague, Mr Honeydew, placed an understanding paw on his shoulder.

Ponthius’ milky eyes turned to the crowd, ‘Does any other Councilpet have vital matters to address?’

A swarm of wings, paws and tails shot to the sky.

‘I wish to speak, Councilpets,’ said Syria, her blue eyes gleaming like sapphires in the night.

All wings, paws and tails dropped instantly. Cats are brooding, selfish types that like staring competitions and destroying curtains. But Syria was an exception. She was thoughtful, gentle and she cared about the Council as much as she did for herself. She obviously had something more important than Mr Nibbles’ spinning wheel in mind…

‘The Word goes to the Head of Cat Affairs, Syria of 7,’ said Ponthius, ‘You may take the Wheel, esteemed colleague.’

Syria jumped off the tree and dropped elegantly to the ground. With her long white coat and bejewelled eyes, she infused the careful, almost sneaky, walk of cats with breathtaking grace. She climbed up the stairs of the playhouse and onto the pontoon and sat on the Wheel’s pedestal. Whoever stood by the Wheel had the Word, those were the rules.

‘I have good news, Councilpets…’ A smile appeared on Syria’s thin black lips. ‘Nero has been wounded.’

As the Head of Cat Affairs expected, mayhem followed. The dogs started howling with glee, the canaries sang the uncensored version of Nero the Fat Cat fell with a Splat. Even Blake’s permanent frown loosened a little. When the crowd finally quietened down, he asked in his low grim voice: ‘Who did it?’

‘That’s a mystery, Ombudspet Blake. But, the brave one that did, ripped his eye clean out! After years of terror, finally somebody has taught that awful Cymric a lesson. The cats in his Gang will start to question his power. This is the time for action, esteemed colleagues! We can convince the cats to rejoin our ranks and reclaim the ones we lost when Prince –’

A little ironic scoff, something between a chuckle and bronchitis, cut Syria short. The she-cat’s eyes glided towards the sandpit. There sat the dogs and, a little aside from them, sat Prince of 57. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.

‘Please don’t stop, Head of Cat Affairs.’ Prince’s amber eyes were fixed on Syria, a dangerous glint in his gaze. ‘I really want to hear what you have to say…’

‘You know very well what I have to say, Alsatian! Because of you there are hardly any cats in the Council!’

‘Oh, here we go again with the meowler nonsense!’ sneered Annabelle and Malita, the Poodle sisters from 49.

‘Rocky, Molly and I are not the only pet cats in Bendall Road!’ continued Syria, ignoring them, ‘What about Asmael of 15, Flash of 42, Oscar of 55, Abby of 23 and everyone else? Where are they now? They are stuck at home or worse, in Nero’s Gang; deemed strays, wanderers and scavengers! Because of you, Pet Selection Officer, they have no Word and their troubles go unheard!’

‘You know what the matter is, esteemed colleague,’ intervened Ponthius uneasily. ‘To belong to the Council of Pets you must be a pet and to be a pet you must have the N.O.T. – No, wait, the N.U.T…’

‘The N.O.C., Ponthius.’

‘Thank you, Ombudspet Blake, the N.O.C.! N for Nuts… I mean, N for N-Number. O for Otter… That can’t be right…’

‘N for Number. O for Owner,’ muttered Blake.

‘And C for…’

No one could see the Head of Council’s embarrassed expression under his thick fur which was probably best for the forgetful Ponthius.

‘C for Collar!’ shouted Blake. Zap! ‘Ouch!’

The Ombudspet’s eyes contracted in discomfort. He too had a collar: a thick black collar with an evil red light on one side. It emitted low electric shocks when he barked so Blake had to speak with care under pain of, well, pain…

‘Ah yes, a Collar,’ Ponthius paused. ‘Where was I?’

Syria gave an angry hiss. ‘But, Ponthius, the N.O.C. is a dirty trick! A trick to get rid of us cats!’

‘The Council voted in favour of the N.O.C. system,’ said Prince, a mocking smile on his lips.

Syria’s claws flashed just for a second from her snowy paws. ‘Humf! Once it was enough to love a Hu’man to be a pet! You didn’t need a trinket around your neck!’

‘Well,’ intervened Ponthius, ‘Old past… New future…’

‘Is that so?’ said Syria, ripping her eyes from Prince and sizzling Ponthius like a sausage, ‘Prince has bought everyone’s stomach with his biscuits and none of you care for the good of the cats in this street? While we squabble over stolen spinning wheels, the Gang of Osiris grows with the cats who don’t have your cursed N.O.C.! The more powerful they become the more trouble they will cause! A treasured possession of my dearest Owner has yet to be found since one of their bandits took it! Mark my words, one day there may be no Council of Pets if Nero has his way –’

‘I’ve heard enough,’ Prince got to his feet and the hissing and muttering pets fell silent. ‘I care for all pets as long as they are pets. To be a pet you must have a Number, ergo a home in Bendall Road; an Owner, ergo a Hu’man to love; and a Collar, as proof said Hu’man loves you back.’

‘Yet not all pets need a Collar it seems,’ snarled Syria. ‘The rodents don’t have collars. Neither do birds, lizards, goldfish… It would seem you are sabotaging us, Prince!’

‘Hu’mans only bestow upon us, cats and dogs, such an honour. The Collar is a symbol of our Hu’mans’ love.’ Prince’s eyes wandered over to the only cats present at the assembly. Old Rocky and Mad Molly were glaring from the shadows of the trees, hatred in their unblinking stares. But they all had a Collar. Not many cats could boast that. ‘Not that the lack of a Collar is a cat’s only fault. It is a known habit of yours to wander. For some of you no Collar would be large enough to fit all the Numbers you visit, not to speak of the Hu’mans you call owners. You would need something the length of a toilet roll instead.’ Syria looked furious but Prince continued mercilessly. ‘Let us take an example you are familiar with, esteemed colleague. Today, is your home Number 7 or 12? Oh, of course, I was forgetting… It depends on whether Mrs Snyde has left you tasty salmon fillets or the nasty, dried nibbles. If your meal disappoints, you’ll stride off to Mrs Samuelsson. How devoted…’ His amber eyes ran over Syria’s slightly podgy silhouette. ‘You cats don’t know love. You only value yourselves and your bellies. What is that cat-saying of yours? Something for something, nothing for nothing, but there is no such thing as something for nothing?’

Syria was trembling with rage but no one came to her defence. Not even Blake. There was a blank resignation in the Ombudspet’s gaze. His voice wasn’t the only thing the zapping collar had taken from him.

When Syria finally dropped her gaze, the Alsatian smiled victoriously.

‘Well, now that we got that silly matter behind us,’ said Prince striding up the playhouse and shooing Syria away with his bushy tail, ‘let us move on to matters of greater interest. There is a little revision to the Oath I would like to bring to your consideration; the culprit for the masticated watercan at Number 39 has not yet been found; tragically the tennis ball is still stuck in the drain by the primary school… But first, has anyone spotted the mysterious creature getting into everyone’s rubbish of late?’

Rumbling roars, breeze blows with might

The night is bright with jagged light

Storm and rain, fill the drains

Storm and rain, rattling frames

Through the woods it creeps

Climbs the fence, sneaks under the sheets

Creaking walls and cracking trees

Hu’man’s house moans and squeaks…

The puppyhood rhyme rolled around Prince’s mind as he made his way back home that night. He was feeling particularly cheerful. The Council had approved his petition to punish with active suspension of all rights those pets who did not secure their trash can lids. They had passed P.L.O.P. (Parrot Late Observations Patrol, Hu’mans liked acronyms so Prince did too). They had even liked the verses he added to the Oath, the Council’s sacred vow, recited at the beginning of every meeting.

This was a great night, silent and stray-less as it should be. With a hint of frustration, Prince remembered it was not always this way. Almost everyone had found their garbage scattered across the lawn in the past week. This was not Nero’s doing. He might be the leader of the criminal cat organization but even he had better things to do than spend the night upsetting Bendall’s cleanliness. This was the work of strays: foxes, possums, drifting dogs, wildcats and other hunger-driven Pactless that would come under the cover of darkness, ravage Bendall Road and mingle with pets like they belonged in his street.

It was Prince’s sworn duty to protect Bendall from this plague. Thanks to his unpopular policies, the Council was already becoming as noble and pure as him. True, it would be much simpler if he were Head of Council…

Give it a few seasons, thought the Alsatian with a smile, Ponthius won’t last forever.

Prince wriggled back through the hole in the fence feeling the wet grass under his belly. Still humming to himself, he walked past the cherry tree when a croaky voice in the dark made him jump.

‘Greetings Princey Pooch!’

Something landed on his head. Prince lifted his gaze. Black and shiny eyes, like tiny beetles, gleamed down at him.

‘Prince is my name! Prince! Not Princey. Not Pooch. Prince! And will you get off my head?’

It was Sapis, the Myna bird. Sapis lived in Number 57’s cherry tree and he had been around for as long as Prince could remember. He was a philosopher of sorts, always there to offer advice and wise suggestions, whether you wanted it or not.

The bird chuckled but didn’t budge. ‘From all the singing, I deduce it was a good meeting, Princey.’

‘As expected,’ the Alsatian stuck out his chest, ‘they approved of all my brilliant ideas. A new roster will be put in place so that the parrots will patrol the skies at night and all pets are to secure their trash lids with something heavy. That way the strays won’t get any food. I foresee a little trouble for the hamsters but I can make sure the rabbits help them…’

‘The hamsters will love the idea of being helped by rabbits, no doubt,’ said Sapis, his voice heavy with irony.

‘They’ll do as they’re told. Unlike cats, rodents know their place and they will follow the rules. If I have it my way the Council may not have to worry about meowlers for too long.’ He winked at Sapis and gave a cold smile, ‘All in good time…’

After what seemed like an inordinately long pause, Sapis ruffled his feathers. ‘Prince, I have been meaning to ask you something…’

Prince looked at Sapis, his head slightly tilted to one side.

‘Are you happy, Prince?’

For the briefest of moments, Prince felt strange. Like a rug had been whipped from under his paws to find that there was nothing but air beneath him. He stood speechless. Then his face crunched up in anger. ‘Of course I am!’ Prince shook Sapis off his head. ‘I have all my things,’ the dog instinctively looked around to the emerald lawn and white mansion, as if to